


The Right Direction (is everything)

by shaenie



Category: White Collar
Genre: Complicated Relationships, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Multi, Virginity or Celibacy Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-14
Updated: 2013-07-14
Packaged: 2017-12-20 05:18:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/883377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shaenie/pseuds/shaenie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They’re in a box, Neal half-straddling Peter, in the basement apartment of a counterfeiter, when Peter starts to buy a clue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Right Direction (is everything)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to for the lightening fast beta. All other mistakes are my own.
> 
> Written for the Celibacy/Virginity square of my Kink Bingo 2013 card.

They’re in a box, Neal half-straddling Peter, in the basement apartment of a counterfeiter, when Peter starts to buy a clue. Neal is twitchy and shifting above him to the point that Peter is worried he’s going to draw attention to the box, and slings an arm around Neal’s waist, tucking him into the curve of Peter’s hip. At first the hard-on means nothing to him; Peter has been in situations like this before. Some people react to adrenaline like that, Peter even occasionally one of them. It isn’t until Neal goes loose over him, pressing himself firmly against Peter’s hip, his breath escaping in a hoarse sigh, that Peter thinks it might be something other than simple adrenaline.

Neal is lean and angular and feels great pressed up against Peter, and he has to work not to squirm around and fit them together better. It’s not the time or the place. They have to be alert enough to get out of this situation alive. They can talk about it afterwards, if it needs to be talked about. He’ll leave that up to Neal. Peter has no desire to embarrass him about it.

“Later,” Peter whispers, and Neal shudders a little, but then lets out a soft huff of breath and rearranges himself so that he isn’t jamming his cock into Peter’s hip. They lie still -- Peter excruciatingly aware of Neal’s physical state, but the point is, they have to do their jobs. The basement finally clears out, Neal gathers evidence and Peter takes pictures, and circling around the back of the alley and out into the street is enough of a rush for both of them that they exchange uncomplicated grins of triumph.

Neal doesn’t mention the box, and Peter bides his time.

Peter can hardly tell what he’s thinking, why he cares.

Surely nothing as likely to be an autonomic physiological reaction from Neal should send Peter plummeting into the man’s known history with an eye to debunking his sexual activities. And what’s the point? What does he intend to do with the information once he goes looking for it, one way or the other?

Peter has access to all of Neal’s tracking data, but that wouldn’t be enough. Neal is wily enough to be squeezing in romantic trysts in places the U.S. Marshal’s would have no idea to even look for them.

Peter himself has spent ten hours days with Neal almost every day since their arrangement had begun, and to be honest, they’d spent some significant time together that wasn’t work related as well.

They’re friends, as much as they can be, with the power imbalance that strings them together, and Peter can’t quite believe that Neal isn’t making time with someone or someones, probably as often as he wants to.

Neal interrupts him midday, looking cool and relaxed, as though the box had had no effect on him. “Lunch?” he asks.

Peter sweeps all his pointless ponderings into a mental box, one with a big, ornate lock, and then follows Neal out the door. 

Peter doesn’t even try to make lunch suggestions anymore. Neal knows where all the best hole-in-the-wall establishments are, and has a pretty good read on what Peter might be in the mood for at any given time, so Peter lets it be a surprise.

This time it’s Vietnamese, with pho so savory that Peter almost doesn’t notice that Neal isn’t eating his share. When he does notice, he puts down his spoon and looks at Neal questioningly. Neal is watching him with a kind of wary thoughtfulness.

As soon as Peter stops eating, Neal says, “You aren’t going to ask.” It’s not a question.

“It isn’t my business,” Peter says, trying and failing not to feel guilty over his mental lockbox.

Neal cocks his head. “I was practically drilling a hole in your hip,” he says. He doesn’t sound embarrassed -- Peter realizes a little belatedly that very little embarrasses Neal -- but he does look a little worried. “I didn’t mean to freak you out,” Neal says, looking away, his agile fingers folding and refolding his napkin.

“I’m not freaked out,” Peter says truthfully. “It’s not that uncommon a reaction to adrenaline in those kind of situations.” Neal gives him a dubious look, and Peter shrugs. “It’s happened to me. Granted, not anywhere that I was in such close quarters, but it’s not unheard of.”

“It’s been a really long time,” Neal says after several long seconds of silence.

Peter hesitates and then asks, carefully, “Sara?”

Neal smiles a little, but it’s not a very happy expression. “It’s complicated.”

Peter would like to ask exactly what those complications are (he has a hard time believing that anyone caught in Neal’s orbit that way wouldn’t be making the most of it), but they’re in a public place and Neal’s expression isn’t exactly forthcoming.

Peter ponders the question he wants to ask. It’s pretty straight-forward, and Neal doesn’t always respond to straight-forward that well. Then again, talking around it doesn’t seem likely to give Peter any kind of useful answers, so he decides to go for it. 

“How long?” he asks, watching Neal’s face.

There is a flash of something like pain, there and gone in an instant, and then Neal shrugs. “It’s subjective, really.”

Peter forces himself to not respond, in spite of the fact that he doesn’t see how it could be all that subjective. ‘Why?’ wants to fall out of his mouth, but he resists that, too.

Instead he says, cautiously, “Are you waiting for someone in particular?”

Neal sighs and rubs at his temples. “Just someone who knows me,” he sighs. “There’s no good reason. I’ve gone out, I’ve gone looking, but anonymous sex has just never been that appealing to me.” He shakes his head. “Anyway, the point is, it won’t happen again.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Peter says truthfully. “I’m worried that you haven’t met anyone you like well enough to be intimate with in what you consider to be a subjectively long time.”

As soon as he says it, Peter wishes he could take it back. Neal’s gaze is dark blue and candid. “I didn’t say that. There are people. They just wouldn’t be interested in me.”

A hot little coil springs to life in Peter’s stomach. He can’t honestly says he’s never looked at Neal and been interested. But there is nothing he can do about it now. At the very least, he has to talk to Elizabeth, and even then, he doesn’t want to spook Neal. It could be that he’s not talking about Peter at all. And if he is, Peter isn’t entirely sure he wants Neal to be talking about him.

Peter doesn’t mean to say anything at all, but hears himself repeating, “But Sara?”

Neal shakes his head, but doesn’t elaborate.

Peter talks Neal into having more pho and picks up the check.

**

Peter tells Elizabeth everything; it’s part of what makes their marriage work. 

“So, you’re saying he’s been celibate at least since he got out of prison?” she asks, her cheek resting comfortably on Peter’s chest. “Does he even masturbate?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t think to ask; does it not count as celibacy if he’s masturbating?” Peter wonders. “And he didn’t say since he got out of prison. He just said a long time, and that how long was subjective.”

“It depends on what definition of celibacy you’re using,” Elizabeth says. “It’s subjective.” Peter turns to look at her, curious, but she doesn’t seem to notice. “So, you don’t know for sure, but if you had to guess?” Elizabeth asks.

Peter considers the abruptness of Neal’s erection, and just shakes his head and sighs. “If he is masturbating, I don’t think he’s doing it often,” he says. “His hard on practically travelled at the speed of light. And as far as subjectivity goes...” He sighs. “It’s at least as likely that it’s been as long as since he _went_ to prison. He’s pretty, but I sincerely doubt he couldn’t have talked his way out of being someone’s prison wife.”

“But why not once he got out, at least?” Elizabeth wants to know.

Peter shakes his head again. “It’s obvious that he could if he wanted to. He’s gorgeous, and there are lots of opportunities within his trackers range.”

“Is it guilt? For Kate?” Elizabeth murmurs. Then, “Or something that happened to him when he was...” Elizabeth doesn’t finish, but Peter doesn’t need her to. It’s already occurred to him. He doubts it; Neal is fiendishly clever, and physically no pushover. Still, he’ll probably check into it, for his own peace of mind at the very least.

“I don’t know, sweetheart. All I can think of is that I should get him laid as soon as possible, and maybe avoid a repeat performance.”

Elizabeth is silent for a few seconds. “Do you really want to avoid a repeat performance?” she asks.

Peter squeezes her close for a minute. “I don’t know that, either,” he says gruffly. “I just know I don’t want to take advantage of him.”

“Neal isn’t exactly the type to get taken advantage of,” Elizabeth mutters. 

“I’m in a position of power over him.”

“Which stops him from doing crazy things all the time,” Elizabeth says wryly.

“Are you encouraging me to sleep with my C.I.?” Peter asks, genuinely curious.

“I’m encouraging you to do whatever will make you both happy,” Elizabeth says, and leans in for a kiss. “You, I know, and Neal never has to worry that you’ll take advantage of him. Him, I know less. But he wouldn’t have told you anything at all if he hadn’t wanted you to be thinking of it. He knows how your mind works, Peter; it’s how he stayed ahead of you for so long.”

“And Sara?” Peter asks.

“Whatever it is he’s doing with Sara isn’t doing it for him,” Elizabeth says. “Or isn’t doing enough for him, anyway.”

Peter thinks about it until he falls asleep.

**

He calls on Neal deliberately early the next day. He’s on the terrace having coffee with June, and he seems surprised to see Peter, but glad, too. Neal pours him a cup of coffee and slides a muffin onto a plate.

They make idle conversation until June excuses herself, giving Peter a wide smile, and then an uncertain silence falls between the two of them. Neal is still in his robe, bundled up over pajamas, and is looking at Peter as though he knows there’s some reason that he’s here, but isn’t exactly certain what it is.

“Do you actually sleep in those pajamas?” Peter asks, trying to sort through what it is he wants to say.

“No,” Neal says with a quirk of a grin at the corner of his mouth. “They’re strictly for breakfast on the terrace. It gets windy up here.”

“Do you masturbate?” Peter blurts and Neal’s eyes widen for a few seconds, then crinkle as he chuckles.

“No,” he says.

“So,” Peter says. “Really celibate. All the way celibate.”

“All the way,” Neal agrees. He’s still smiling faintly, but his eyes on Peter are intent. “Why do you care?”

Peter fumbles for an answer -- it’s not that he doesn’t have one, but rather that he has about twenty and doesn’t know which one is right -- and finally goes with, “I don’t know,” which is at least partially the truth.

“You don’t know, but you do care,” Neal says slowly.

Peter nods a little unwillingly.

Neal stands easily, folding the paper and tucking it under his arm. “Enjoy your coffee; I need to get dressed.”

It’s a dismissal, but not a very stinging one. Peter accepts it because he isn’t sure what else he can do. His coffee, like everything else, is perfect. He finishes in time to meet Neal on the stairs to his apartment. Neal looks like an advertisement out of a mens modeling magazine, and Peter doesn’t allow himself to look too long.

**

Perhaps inevitably, they end up wedged upright against each other in a storage closet in a warehouse on eighty-third street. They have a warrant, but backup is still a few minutes out, and once the bad guys started shooting, it was only a matter of common sense to go to ground.

Peter would have landed on his side behind a pile of crates, except that Neal had caught him as he skidded by and jerked him into the closet. The cramped space is full of cleaning products and brooms and mops, and they barely dare shift as they hear the bad guys yelling out at one another as they search the warehouse for the two of them.

Neal’s cock is rock hard and pressed firmly against Peter’s thigh, and there’s no use in pretending that Peter’s body isn’t responding.

“Are you doing this on purpose?” Peter murmurs.

“Only inasmuch as the opportunity presented itself,” Neal murmurs back.

“But you’re definitely maneuvering to get me into a small space so that you can shove your hard on up against me?” Peter asks, genuinely wanting an answer.

“Sorry,” Neal breathes into Peter’s ear.

“I don’t understand,” Peter breathes back, but he shifts his hand up to hold Neal’s hip, thinking for a moment that he would push him away, aware almost the second that he feels Neal’s hipbone pressed against his palm that he’s going to pull Neal in instead.

Neal breathes out unsteadily against Peter’s cheek, but all he says is, “I know you don’t.”

The voices echo more closely around their hiding place, and Peter tenses, his gun out, but with no way to shield Neal if any actual shooting starts. Neal must know it, is by no means stupid, but his cock is still pressed tightly to Peter’s thigh. Peter almost wishes there was a light in this closet. Neal is breathing quickly; Peter wants to know if he’s flushed as well.

Time warps the way it does when you’re in danger. Peter hears doors opening and closing and tries to brace himself to shoot someone in the face if they’re discovered. It feels like a long time, and Neal’s cock stays hard. Even once Peter hears their back up, a few shots fired along with several agents shouting identification, Neal is still pressed up against him, hard and slim and making Peter’s head swim a little with lust.

It’s Neal that finally untangles them, straightening Peter’s suit and then his own. He eases out of the closet, Peter close behind him. Their backup has the situation well in hand, and for a while there isn’t even time to think about the closet or Neal’s cock or the damp warmth of Neal’s breath against his cheek.

They find what they had come looking for, they arrest all six people in the warehouse, but Peter is impatient with it all. If it weren’t for Neal’s minute examination of the printing plates, Peter would have hurried them back to the office, though he isn’t sure exactly why. The office isn’t private enough to have the kind of conversation with Neal that he wants to have, and he isn’t even sure how to start that conversation anyway.

He only knows he’s still semi-erect and it feels imperative to sort out what’s going on before it goes any further.

And even then, Peter can’t tell himself it’s because he doesn’t want it to go any further. He’s not sure if he does or not. He’s only sure he wants to understand why. If he knew why, he might be able to make some kind of decision about what to do.

**

Neal is sporadically absent for the next two days. He isn’t hard to find if Peter needs him for something, but he doesn’t dawdle in Peter’s office or bring Peter cups of coffee accompanied by entertaining tidbits of office gossip. Peter doesn’t call him on it, partly because he genuinely respects Neal’s boundaries, and if Neal is trying to establish some, Peter wants to let him. It’s not just about boundaries, though. Or, at least, it’s not just about Neal’s boundaries. Peter isn’t sure where his own boundaries are at this point.

He feels like he needs to talk to Neal to establish their situation, but he isn’t willing to force Neal to have that conversation.

It doesn’t stop him from talking to June and finding out that Sara does not, in fact, spend the night, and rarely even visits at all. It also doesn’t stop him from sorting through Neal’s tracking data until he turns up an address Neal patronizes most Tuesday nights from between eight and eleven.

The internet informs him that it’s a sex club. Well, not really. The internet informs him that it’s a Private Sensual Entertainment Club, but Peter is relatively certain they’re pretty close to the same thing. Tuesday night is Voyeur’s Night, according to the website. 

Peter pulls up a satellite image on Google and ponders what he’d do if he were, totally hypothetically, planning on staking the place out. He’s so busy considering it that he almost has a heart attack when Neal says, “Professional interest or recreational?” from right behind Peter.

Peter, with uncontrollable reflexive guilt, tabs the window closed, even though it’s totally too late to do him any good at all.

He glances over his shoulder; Neal is smirking at him. “You could just ask why I go there,” he says without rancor.

“Why do you go there?” Peter asks obligingly.

“It’s an outlet. Those that don’t do, observe.” Neal seems so matter-of-fact about it that Peter is kind of at a loss.

“I still don’t understand,” Peter says, though he believes Neal.

“I know,” Neal says fondly. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I kind of can’t stop thinking about it,” Peter admits, without really meaning to and against his better judgement.

“You’ll work it out,” Neal says easily.

Peter is by no means certain of that eventuality, but Neal glides out the door before Peter can ask any more questions.

**

Peter doesn’t wait for Neal to drag him into another closet.

The very next time he has an opportunity -- Neal is having dinner with them at their house, and Peter had arranged with Elizabeth to be absent long enough to give him a chance -- Peter drags Neal into the hall closet, where they are surrounded with winter wear, umbrellas, and light jackets. It’s actually a smaller space than the last closet, and not that much roomier than the box had been, only an improvement because they’re upright. It smells faintly of wool and cedar. Peter steps on an ice skate and has to sweep things out of the way with one foot to give himself a place to stand.

Unlike the last two times, Neal doesn’t immediately jam himself up against Peter, leaving Peter in a slight quandary. It seems like these are the only places that Neal is willing to talk about it at all, and Peter is nearing desperate for information, but he still doesn’t want to take advantage of Neal.

He hesitates a couple of seconds, and then decides to exhibit the way that Neal had previously done it. He turns and presses the length of his erection against Neal’s hip, not grasping or holding Neal, just sort of presenting it as there.

Neal lets out a harsh breath and leans into Peter in return, both of them shifting so that their cocks are lined up and pressed against each other. 

“We have about three minutes before Elizabeth comes looking for us,” Peter says. “I don’t understand what’s going on, which I know you know. I know you said that I’d figure it out, Neal, but I’ve got to tell you, I don’t feel like I’m getting any closer.”

“Just doing this means you’re getting closer,” Neal says warmly, leaning into Peter until he’s almost close enough to kiss. Peter can feel Neal’s breath against his lips. “But I’ll help you if you can ask the right questions.”

“Will you tell me the right questions?” Peter asks, and Neal laughs, quietly mocking. “Yeah, I didn’t think so,” Peter grumbles. He thinks for several seconds, and then decides to go with, “Why is the amount of time you’ve been celibate subjective?”

“It depends on how one defines celibacy,” Neal says, sounding just like Elizabeth.

“Have you had sex since you went to prison?” Peter asks.

“No,” Neal says.

“So you were celibate while you were in prison,” Peter says.

“For a given definition of celibacy,” Neal qualifies. He sounds like he’s smiling. 

“Did you masturbate in prison?” Peter asks with a little shiver of excitement that sometimes accompanies figuring out the right question to ask.

“I did,” Neal says, sounding far more serious now.

“And since you got out of prison?” Peter asks. His cock is a thick ache pressed against Neal’s; he has to resist the urge to roll his hips.

“Not since you got me out of prison,” Neal says, voice low.

Peter considers that. “Do you like being celibate?”

Neal pauses for so long that Peter isn’t sure he’s going to answer, but eventually says, “I like it when I’m supposed to be.”

Before Peter can ask how Neal knows when he’s supposed to be celibate, Neal leans in and brushes his lips lightly against Peter’s. It’s barely a kiss at all, but Neal’s lips are soft and a little slick, and before Peter really realizes he’s going to do it, he’s pressed Neal back against the wall and is kissing him in earnest, sliding one hand into Neal’s thick, silky hair and pressing his tongue against the seam of Neal’s lips. Neal cooperates, making a low, alluring sound, and Peter is so caught up in the kissing that he forgets that he has questions for Neal and that they’re on a time table.

Neal eventually murmurs, “Elizabeth is going to come looking soon,” and Peter drags himself back from Neal almost entirely, leaving just the hand in his hair that Peter can’t quite seem to make let go.

“Can’t you just tell me?” Peter whispers gruffly. “You know how I am with relationships; I never really got the hang of figuring them out.”

Neal pulls back a little; Peter can see the gleam of his eyes, but it’s too dark in the closet to make out his expression. “You are working at a natural handicap,” Neal says, voice warm and amused. “So, maybe a little help.”

“Such as?” Peter asks, when Neal doesn’t continue.

“Celibacy requires direction,” Neal says quietly. “Or it requires a complete lack of direction. Either way, somebody is directing.”

Before Peter can ask, Neal slips out of the closet, tipping his head a little to free his hair from Peter’s grasping hand. Peter doesn’t immediately follow, thinking hard.

Celibacy while in prison, with the exception of masturbation. Directed by whom? Kate, most likely. Which, if Peter is decoding it right, means if Kate hadn’t directed it... Then Neal wouldn’t have done it. That Kate had given Neal permission.

If that’s the case, Neal hasn’t had that kind of permission since he’d been released. Peter knows Neal had been in touch with Kate, at least occasionally, but she hadn’t directed him, so he’d stopped masturbating. The question is, who is directing Neal _now_? Sara? The timing doesn’t make sense. Neal had been out of prison for a year or more before he’d met Sara.

There is a knock on the closet door. 

Peter opens it.

Elizabeth grins. “Dinner is ready, if you’re prepared to come out of the closet.”

Neal laughs from somewhere out of Peter’s line of sight.

“You’re both hilarious,” Peter says grumpily, and comes out to join them for dinner. 

**

Peter walks into his office the next afternoon, and finds Sara sitting in the chair across the desk, a small black box in her hands.

“Sara,” Peter says, trying to pretend he doesn’t have mixed feelings about seeing her. He’s always liked Sara; the fact that he kind of hates the idea of her and Neal together now makes him uncomfortable. He’d like to believe it’s because he knows now that Neal isn’t getting what he needs from Sara, but the truth is at least a little more selfish than that. “What brings you to visit?”

He sets his cup of coffee down and crosses to sit behind his desk.

“I need a favor,” Sara says, and she’s smiling a little, but it doesn’t really touch her eyes.

“What can I do?” Peter asks, sounding less friendly than he means to even in his own ears.

Sara gestures with the box she’s holding. “I have a gift for Neal,” she says, and then pauses significantly, as though expecting Peter to have some sort of comment on that. Peter has no idea what she’s expecting, and keeps his mouth shut. “I need your permission to offer it to him.”

Peter stares, lost. “What could you possibly want to give him that requires my permission?” he finally asks.

Sara passes the box across the desk to Peter, who reaches for it and takes it automatically. “Take a look,” she says, when Peter makes no move to open the box.

Peter considers the box for a moment, and then flips it open. Inside is a braided platinum and gold I.D. bracelet. The I.D. plate has Neal’s name engraved on it. Peter flips it over on a whim. The inscription on the back reads: Property of Sara Ellis. Peter stares at it for a few long seconds, and then, mostly because he isn’t sure what he wants to say about it yet, examines the rest of the bracelet. He only realizes that the bracelet is made to be locked into place because a tiny key is embedded in half of the locking mechanism.

“You want to lock this on him so he can’t take it off?” Peter finally asks. He keeps his voice as neutral as possible, but he is torn between outrage and what he can’t deny is some form of jealousy.

“Neal has certain needs,” Sara says. “He needs something like this to help him express his needs.”

“Have you discussed this with Neal?” Peter asks, striving for calm.

“Not yet. I wanted to make my intentions clear to you, first. He’ll come to you for your consent.” Sara gives him a long, steady look. “I wanted to be sure you’d give it before I offered him the bracelet.”

Peter wants to point out that her intentions aren’t clear at all, and that he isn’t entirely clear on why Neal would feel like he has to have Peter’s consent to accept anything from Sara, but he’s too hung up on the idea of the bracelets lock, and on the nature of an I.D. bracelet.

“Neal spends a lot of his time undercover,” Peter says slowly. “An I.D. bracelet is revealing; especially one that he can’t take off.” It’s totally truthful, but Peter isn’t trying to pretend it’s the whole truth behind his desire to reject this situation. The idea of Neal wearing a bracelet with the words ‘Property of Sara Ellis’ on it makes Peter’s pulse pound in his temples.

Sara is glaring at him; she holds out her hand and Peter spills the bracelet back into the box and hands it back. “So I’m assuming I do not have your permission to make the offer.”

“No,” Peter says slowly. “Whether or not Neal is willing to wear your bracelet is between you and Neal. I’m only saying that if he asks me for advice, I’ll suggest that he try to get you to agree to something a little more subtle.”

Sara looks at him, mouth a little open. “You really have no idea, do you?” she says, her voice taut.

“No idea about what?” Peter asks, genuinely hoping for an answer, but Sara jams the black box into her bag and gets to her feet.

“If you can’t figure it out, I’m certainly not going to tell you. It’ll be over in a year, anyway. I’m willing to wait that long for him.”

She turns her back and stalks out of Peter’s office, leaving Peter completely at a loss.

**

Peter has turned it over in his mind a million times. He hasn’t made as much progress as he wants -- or as Neal wants, Peter is sure, as he can feel Neal’s eyes on him all day at work on Monday -- but he has an idea.

The problem is in the execution. Well, no, the problem is if the idea itself isn’t sound, then the execution could cause considerable backlash.

It isn’t until they’re ready to go to lunch on Tuesday that Peter finally decides to give it a shot. 

He waits until they’re halfway through the pork skewers they’re sharing, waffles a little with some naan with mint chutney, and finally says, “I don’t think you should observe.”

Neal freezes, a slice of grilled pepper halfway to his mouth, his eyes wide as he regards Peter. After several seconds, Neal lowers the grilled pepper to his plate and picks up his napkin, wiping his hands fastidiously, not looking at Peter at all while he does it. When he’s finished, he looks at Peter again, this time appearing to be completely collected. “You mean at the club,” he says, voice slightly unsteady.

“Yes. That’s what I mean,” Peter says firmly, watching Neal minutely for a clue, any kind of a clue.

Neal nods slowly, and pulls out his phone. Peter watches him scroll through numbers, tapping one to dial. A moment later, he says, “I’m not going to be able to come tonight.” His tone is easy, but tension is still radiating from the set of his shoulders. “No, I don’t think I’ll be able to come again at all.” There is a long pause while whomever is on the other end of the line talks -- Peter is guessing Sara, but has no way of really knowing -- and then Neal says, “We were both aware that this could happen.” Pause. “No, I don’t know yet. I’ll tell you as soon as I know anything.” Another pause. “I won’t take an offer unless I’m sure things won’t work out. We’ve talked about this.” Neal glances up at Peter for a few seconds, and then sighs slightly. “This is not a good time to talk. Come to my apartment tonight?”

Peter feels a frankly alarming jolt of jealousy.

“Okay,” Neal says. “Another night, then.”

Peter releases a breath he hadn’t even been aware he’d been holding.

Neal disconnects the call and slides his phone back into his coat.

He looks at Peter, and Peter is surprised to see that he’s slightly flushed. “Do you know what you’re doing?” Neal asks, his voice almost plaintive.

“I’m working on knowing what I’m doing,” Peter says honestly, and watches Neal’s face crumple slightly with a pang of guilt. “Was that Sara?” he asks, unable to stop himself.

Neal merely nods.

“Is that what you do with her instead of having sex?” Peter demands.

“Sometimes we go dancing,” Neal says, subdued. “Sometimes she’s... part of the show.”

Peter feels his eyebrows skyrocket. “At the club?” he clarifies.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t spread that around,” Neal says, a little wry, but still subdued.

“Are there private shows?” Peter demands. He has no idea where the question comes from, and has no control over it when it comes tumbling out of his mouth.

Neal jerks a little, as if startled, but doesn’t look away. “Sometimes.”

“I don’t think you should observe those either,” Peter says. He hears himself saying it, but it’s like he’s not in control of his mouth at all. 

“Okay, Peter,” Neal says, and his easy capitulation hits Peter in the back of the head, revelation, and in the pit of his belly, desire, at the same time.

Neal is getting his direction from Peter. There’s no other explanation or timeline that makes sense. Or rather, he’s getting no direction from Peter, but he wants to be. He thinks about Sara’s I.D. bracelet and then about the anklet that Neal can’t take off. It feels like his heart rate spikes at the undeniable correlation of the two.

But why now? Is Neal just finally comfortable enough with Peter to exhibit his desires, or is Neal just tired of waiting?

“Neal,” he says, suddenly in control of his mouth again, and as serious as a heart attack. “Neal, is this what you want?”

Neal regards him evenly. “Is it what you want?” he asks.

Peter doesn’t know how to answer that question. “I want to be sure I’m doing it right,” he says finally.

“So do I.” Neal smiles a little. “Take a few days to think about it.”

It’s such a clear dismissal of the conversation that Peter can’t bring himself to try to rekindle it.

Peter is half-thrilled and half-frustrated, and he can feel Neal watching him for the rest of the day.

**

Neal doesn’t mention the bracelet to Peter at all, which drives Peter completely crazy for two days. The conversation with Sara circles around inside his head along with the half a phone call Peter had overheard at the restaurant until Peter’s brain feels slightly electrified all the time. He thinks he knows, but he’s wary of screwing it up. He’s even more wary of doing nothing at all, though, knowing that Sara has a bracelet out there with Neal’s name already carved on it.

Peter can’t know if Sara had already offered it or not; Neal hasn’t said one way or the other. But she could offer at any time; Neal, he’s aware, could just tell her he was ready for an offer at any time, and she would make it.

Neal is waiting on Peter and Peter is still struggling with the rules.

It’s a totally unremarkable Friday afternoon when Neal swans into Peter’s office with two cups of gourmet coffee and a white paper bag that smells like croissants. His cheeks are pink from the cool autumn air, and he’s already shed his coat, but his brilliant red scarf is still slung around his neck.

Peter resists the urge to grab the ends of Neal’s scarf and reel him in for a kiss, primarily because his office is made of glass, and the last thing he needs to worry about is a disciplinary charge for inappropriate behavior.

Nevertheless, when Neal bends to set the cup carrier onto the desk, Peter does catch the trailing ends of his scarf. Neal freezes, half-bent, and gives Peter a look that practically steams up his glass office walls.

“Do you like to... _not_ be celibate?” Peter asks softly.

“When I’m not supposed to be,” Neal breathes, and his eyes are wide now, and fixed on Peter’s. He’s standing completely still, so taut that he looks like he might shatter, but there’s a slight curve to his lips, something like anticipation in his face.

“You can go jerk off,” Peter says. “Come right back here when you’re done.”

Neal’s face blazes and he hitches in a series of tiny breaths, but he doesn’t move until Peter lets go of his scarf. Then he stares at Peter for ten seconds or so and then whirls on his heel and stalks out the door.

Peter waits for what he thinks is about one minute -- he’s not sure, he’d been counting, but hadn’t been able to keep track -- and gets up and heads to the bathroom, as the most likely place Neal would go to for some privacy.

There’s no one else in the bathroom, and thank god, because Peter can pinpoint Neal’s harsh breathing easily. Neal has either been careless (Peter doubts it), or had anticipated Peter’s presence, because the stall door he is in is slightly ajar. Neal’s slacks are down around his thighs and he’s bent slightly forward, one hand braced behind the toilet. Peter can hear that sounds of his hand on his cock, a slightly slick slap of a sound, and Peter would love to just grind his cock up against Neal’s exposed ass and bury his face in Neal’s neck, but instead he curves his body around Neal’s and catches Neal’s jerking hand in his, first slowing the motion, and then stopping it altogether.

Neal grates out a sound of protest from between clenched teeth. It’s so ungodly sexy that Peter bites gently at the side of Neal’s neck; Neal’s back arches, and Peter locks a groan into the back of his throat at having Neal’s ass pressed against his erection.

“I changed my mind,” Peter says hoarsely. “Celibate is a good look for you.”

“You could fuck me right now,” Neal returns just as hoarsely. “I’m ready.” Neal catches Peter’s free hand and guides it between their bodies, his hand as steady as it always is, despite the situation. He guides Peter’s fingertips, nudging them between the cheeks of his ass, and Peter feels the unmistakable slickness of lube. He is abruptly breathless, and the hand curled around Neal’s hand and cock tightens automatically. Neal moans desperately.

Ten things pile up into the front of Peter’s mind. Things like how the first time he fucks Neal, it is not going to be in the FBI bathroom. Things like how long has Neal been getting himself ready to be fucked by Peter every day. Things like whether or not Sara had offered Neal the bracelet.

What he actually says, though, is, “Is it that you want to be celibate and need someone to tell you to be celibate, or is it that you just need someone to tell you what to do?”

“It’s just that I need someone,” Neal pants harshly. “Either way. Whatever works for you. Just. That I need someone.”

“Someone, or me?” Peter asks, his mouth dry, but forcing it out anyway. He’s afraid he won’t like the answer to the question, but he has to know, anyhow. Is it _Peter_ , or could it be anyone?

“I want it to be you,” Neal admits a little brokenly. “If you can’t, I understand, and I’ll try to leave you out of it.”

“Sara would be easier,” Peter says gruffly.

“No, she wouldn’t. I’d have to give myself to Sara.” Neal’s voice is barely a whisper. “I don’t have to give anything to you; you already took me.”

Peter could press, but he already thinks he understands. It goes back to that first day, when Peter had made Neal show him the anklet, and had told Neal that he belonged to Peter for the next four years.

“Elizabeth?” Peter asks. It’s the only really hard question left.

But Neal breathes out a harsh, relieved-sounding sob. “Anything you want. Anything she wants, as much as she wants, nothing or everything.”

“God, Neal,” Peter breathes, and before he can talk himself out of fucking Neal in the FBI bathroom for the first time, he releases Neal’s cock and works his hand on his own fly. Neal whispers out a tiny whimper, and Peter demands, “How long have you been ready like this for me, every day?”

“Since the box,” Neal admits, his voice ravaged. “Peter, please.”

Heat washes over Peter’s skin, and his cock spills out into his waiting hand. “How do you like it?” he asks.

“I like it how you want it,” Neal says, voice such a low, throaty command that Peter can’t doubt his sincerity. 

Peter lines up his cock, feeling the slick heat of the opening of Neal’s body, and Neal arches back, both hands braced on the wall now, so that the head of Peter’s cock slips right in without Peter moving at all.

“Yes, yes,” Neal groans, and Peter curls his hands fiercely around Neal’s hips and let’s his body surge forward, not as hard as he wants, but harder than he normally would. Neal hisses and tries to spread his legs apart more, and Peter reaches down to untangle Neal’s slacks from around his knees. 

Neal rocks back onto his cock, shuddering out a helpless sound that makes Peter’s cock jerk desperately, and Peter curls a hand around Neal’s cock and strokes it once. Neal goes taut and trembling. “Don’t, I can’t, it’s been so long,” Neal babbles and Peter thrusts into Neal with his cock and drags his hand along Neal’s cock at the same time. Neal twists urgently around Peter’s cock, the rough, ragged sounds he’s making driving Peter truly crazy. He’s never pounded into anyone the way he shoves himself into Neal, and Neal reacts as though it’s the best thing that has ever happened to him. Neal is tight but still slick and blood hot around Peter’s cock, and he knows he won’t last long.

He isn’t sure how long he has wanted Neal like this; he’d like to think it’s just been since the box and the subsequent circumstances, but when he thinks of Sara trying to replace Neal’s anklet with her I.D. bracelet, he rams himself into Neal more roughly, and admits that this has been much longer coming.

“Did she offer you the bracelet?” Peter demand, thrusting steadily now, his hand curled lightly around Neal’s cock, slick with precome and heavy with blood.

“She said you were never going to figure it out,” Neal pants. “I didn’t believe her.”

“Without the bracelet, I might not have,” Peter admits, his thighs clenching and jerking as he tries to hold back an orgasm that promises to be earth shattering.

“I would have made sure,” Neal moans. “Peter.” Peter’s name is broken and begging on Neal’s lips; Peter isn’t sure he’s ever heard Neal make a more honest sound, and it’s too much for Peter to resist. He tightens his fist around Neal’s cock and plunges into him deeply, twisting his wrist a little.

“Go on,” Peter murmurs. “I want to feel you come on my cock.”

Neal lets out a high, hoarse moan and shudders full body; a moment later he tightens excruciatingly around Peter’s cock, and Peter’s hand is abruptly slick with Neal’s come. Peter doesn’t even last a minute after that, his thrusts violent and rhythmless, until he’s biting back a shout and shooting inside Neal, his whole body alive with the expansive prickle of orgasm.

Peter, his brain still mostly offline as the result of one of the most stunning orgasms of his life, says, “Why wait until now; we could have been doing this for years.”

Neal laughs a little breathlessly. “It couldn’t happen until you knew me. You would have always felt like you’d taken advantage.”

Peter can’t deny it. He nuzzles at Neal’s neck instead, sighing into the intoxicating smell of his hair. “When did you get so wise?” he asks, sliding a hand up to stroke the line of Neal’s ribs beneath his shirt.

Neal, though, seems to take the question seriously. “I think it started after the first year I worked with you.” He turns his face and Peter plants a kiss on the corner of his smiling mouth. “Let’s see if we can get cleaned up enough to be presentable in public.”

It takes a little doing, and they’re both slightly rumpled, but they manage it.

It isn’t until they’re in Peter’s office, Neal lounging bonelessly in the chair across the desk, looking flushed and distractingly fucked out, that Peter says, “Is it presumptuous of me to ask you not to see Sara anymore?”

“Sara is going to be disappointed, but I’ve always been honest with her,” Neal says. “She knew it could come to this. That I wanted it to.”

“Is that a no?” Peter asks.

“It’s up to you who I see now,” Neal says, his smile wide and genuine.

“And a year from now?” Peter asks cautiously.

“You can buy me something flashy to replace the anklet,” Neal says impishly. “A watch, maybe. I won’t even object to a tracker.”

“Are you always in this good a mood after you get some?” Peter asks, amused.

“Try me and find out,” Neal grins.


End file.
